Some time back a neighbor gave me a 1939 copy of “Edward MacHugh’s Treasury of Gospel Hymns and Poems.” Among some of the old gospel songs and poems I came across this from John Milton:
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent, which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent,
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He, returning, chide:
Doth God exact day labor, light denied?”
I fondly ask; but Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work, or His own gifts; who best
Bear His mind yoke, they serve Him best.
Is kingly. thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.